


and now he's here

by idolizedblowhard



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Lowercase, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, angst but not really, dead!schlatt got rehab he's just an annoying new york uncle now, ghost channel points, glatt content, im so sad over these block characters and i hate british people, mexican dream isnt quackity, mexican dream supremacy, no Nsfw, no beta we die like tommy, schlatt and wilbur are two cheeks of the same ass, tommyinnit is so confused he's not even yelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolizedblowhard/pseuds/idolizedblowhard
Summary: tommyinnit dies and meets up with the homies in the afterlife.(EDIT 03/04/2021: this aged so poorly but i made it RIGHT after the death stream so.)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	and now he's here

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know how ao3 works this is my first fic here uhm. this takes place after the events of march 1st! it's the second and not much has been said or built upon so excuse the lack of explaination. also! this is very much so built upon headcanon! in which schlatt and wilbur are simply begrudging besties in the afterlife! not in a shippy way please thanks! hope you enjoy! :D

_**“why don’t you go see him then?”  
  
**_white hot pain seers through tommy’s body, who knew a god would really do this kind of damage huh? he feels the life drain from his body, not to nowhere, just from the body he inhabited. maybe wilbur was right, death isn’t that bad. no. he died to dream. again. why is it always dream? god if tommy could get his hands on him he’d- he can’t. his limbs feel like fog. they’re there. he can move. but everytime he does, it’s like his spirit...lags behind by a few seconds. “being a ghost feels weird” he mutters aloud, to no one in particular.  
  
floating in a pure white void leaves no room for surprise guests around the corner, where the hell is this “afterlife” thing?  
  
  
“-be here.”  
“-n’t be here!”  
“you shouldn’t be here tommy!”  
  
wilbur. the child’s head snaps up, he’s greeted with a room-like area, clouded in a thin layer of well, clouds. like a well lived living room, long faded blue couch, a television playing static and...sitting at a table, he takes note of ram horns, a red beanie, and a mexican flag.  
the beanie moves faster than he can really process it, and in seconds he’s face to face with wilbur soot, in all of his trenchcoated glory.  
  
“tommy, when i said see you soon i didn’t mean-that wasn’t a _challenge_!” the older man sputters, grabbing tommy by the shoulders.  
  
“hey big man.”  
his shoulders shake. he hates it.  
he lifts a ghostly arm to wipe at his face, the tears don’t hurt like ghostbur said they would. maybe he’s crying ghost ectoplasm or something.  
making eye contact, tommy can see the desperation in wilbur’s eyes. is he not happy to see him? is he mad that tommy gave up so quickly?  
  
  
“i never seem to die, huh?” ow. a dull throb rings in his brain, the final blow was blunt force trauma-  
  
“from a fucking potato…. _fuck_.”  
  
wilbur keeps his hands steady on his brother’s shoulders, shaking his head softly. schlatt turns around from his seat at the table. he looks...different. the man looked, presentable, for once; shedding the suit for a more casual blue sweater. probably wilbur’s idea.  
  
“the hell got you here kid? i thought you had dream’s ass, thought that was your whole shtick. i mean, i'm not complaining, wilbur owes me money now but-“  
  
“schlatt.”  
  
tommy groans. “you bet money on my life?”  
“well-“ wilbur starts to explain himself, removing one of his hands to card it through his hair. “look. i said i felt a space growing for you here, and schlatt decided to bet that you’d be dying in the six months. i took him up on that and-“  
  
“now you owe me fifty bucks and a kiss on the lips!” the ram muses, pointing mockingly at his mouth which is curled into a sneer. one tommy is unfamiliar with, almost, playful. when did schlatt get playful with wilbur?  
  
“I don’t have money for you schlatt, i spent it on tommy, for no reason.”  
  
MD barks out a laugh, adjusting his pants before hopping up himself. “tommy, man, let me tell you what wilbur’s been doing.” he slides an arm over tommy’s shoulders and tugs him around the....living room? what is this place? “when you die, you get whack ass ghost money. this shit catches interest right? like...one coin every 3 days or something, use it to do whatever you want! you already know what i use it for~” he throws tommy a wink and adjusts his mask. “buuuuuut these two use it to gamble. schlatt died before all of us, so he’s got baaaaaank, and man if i haven’t tried to cash _in_ on that ghost dinero. wilbur saved up to talk to you back when uh...whenever he did that. took, like, all of his funds to argue with you for ten minutes.”  
  
wilbur audibly sighed, dragging his hands across his face. “quit reminding me, jesus. yes. i spent my whole fucking ghost fund on arguing with you for 10 minutes just for you to show up not too long after, my credit is going to shit.”

  
ghost credit? ‘ _i’ll buy myself a subaru or something_ ’ tommy smacks himself upside the head, reigniting the flame that burned only a few minutes ago. stupid brain and its stupid jokes. MD retreated into the cloudy void, waving off to tommy shouting about the unlimited ‘goods’ he didn’t want to miss happy hour for...happy hour? for drugs? sure.

wilbur turned to face tommy, schlatt had turned his chair around to face tommy correctly. he still wore those dirty ass timbs, even after death? wow.

“so do you know how i-“  
“it was on the tv.” wilbur gestured to the old box, still playing static.  
  
“yeah, wilbur changed the channel to tommyinnit so many damn times i think he forgot what the fuckin’ football channel was. y’know how bored i got watching you prance around with sam all day?”  
  
“schlatt!”  
  
tommy fumbled around with the hem of his shirt, he’s usually so...so loud. so boisterous. where’d tommyinnit go? did he die too?   
“i can’t believe i let him kill me wilbur. you saw the whole thing, you saw how i provoked him, but i didn’t mean for it to go this far. i don’t know what i could’ve done better.”  
  
“tommy…” wilbur watched his brother’s shoulders sag, the look of pure defeat across his once permanently smiling features.  
“tommy, it’s not your fault,” a shrug from the blond, like he was _doubtful_. “dream is...he’s different. he’s got some god complex we cannot break down, no sane person would beat a child defenseless in a confined space with no chance of escape.”  
  
“ _well_ -”  
  
“-i stand corrected. either way, dream had no reason to. it’s not your fault he’s gone fucking insane tommy, you stood your ground to the very end, you showed him who’s boss. and hey, between us, he’s gonna use that book. you’re too fun to mess with. if he took all of your lives, you can take all of his y’hear me?”   
a slow nod from tommy, still unsure.

  
_what did dream do in prison...how long were they in for?_ wilbur swears under his breath, wishing he had the money to send out his spectre again. he almost asked schlatt, the day ghostbur vanished, to send in “glatt” as he was so eloquently named. schlatt refused, under the principle, “nobody fucking likes me wilbur.” which. yeah. he had a good point. he swears it’s only gotten more stressful after death, only being able to watch as tommy suffered through exile, as tubbo struggled with leadership. wilbur rubs his forehead, permanently creased from years of stress and focuses his attention back on the teenager in front of him.  
  
tommy let his legs give way. gripping wilbur’s jacket like a lifeline as he shook. no sobs. no, tommy wouldn’t cry, he refused. he’s strong, he showed dream who was boss. he...left tubbo. he left sam nook. he doesn’t get to hear ranboo and tubbo argue about nothing across snowchester anymore. he won’t get to laugh with puffy putting up omelette posters. he won’t get to watch karl quackity and sapnap dance down the streets late at night, drunk off their asses, having the time of their lives. he won’t get to see his hotel grow. he can’t apologize to techno. he can’t listen to the discs he fought so, so hard for. he fought so hard for a piece of childhood, only to have that childhood ripped away. all because of dream.  
  
“i hate him, wilbur.”  
“i hate him more everyday.”  
  
wilbur keeps tommy there, in his arms, keeps his brother close. as if he would really give way if wilbur loosened his grip any further. “he’s not here tommy, i’ve got you...we’ve got you. you always have me. what do you think ghostbur was for?”

tommy tried to bury his head deeper into wilbur’s neck, the taller man rubbing his back, as comforting as a war veteran can.

“i missed you. but i didn’t think i’d see you-” his breath hitched, choking back the sadness attempting to claw its way from his throat. “here.”

“you won’t be here long tommy. don’t worry.” he sighed, hearing schlatt’s chair shift. the ram ruffled tommy’s hair with a soft laugh.

“man will, you got one good kid. that book might just get a new name soon. for now, you’re stuck with us shitstain. make yourself at home, we have uno and i’m not afraid to crush you anytime.” a glass “clink!” rang through the void as schlatt left, a new bottle of whiskey in hand.   
“and you don’t get drunk offa shit here! so drink your heart out.” off he went, too, into the pristine nothingness.  
  
“what he said. let’s get you settled in, you’re going to be tired soon i can tell.” tommy nodded, standing up fully, wiping his eyes from any hint of emotion.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“so....what’s this i hear about unlimited goods eh?”  
  


“tommy.”  
  
  
“sorry! sorry!”


End file.
